How Much is Too Much?
by SophieSaulie
Summary: Billy is shot and left for dead. As he fights for survival, Rick shares a bit of his past to keep Billy going then questions if it's all worth it.


**How much is too much?**

"_For a man who's done more than his fair share of bleeding, the mere sight of the stuff it makes me squeamish."_

Billy cringed in pain, pulled away his hand from his wound and felt it coated with his blood. It doesn't come as a surprise. He knows and understands about blood loss, having shed his share. He knew he was slowly bleeding out from the bullet wound and would have to get help soon. Even though he knew that he couldn't apply enough pressure to staunch the flow, instinct and self-preservation still had him trying. It was a juggling act of pain versus pressure. The more pressure he applied, the more pain, sometimes so intense that he had to curl into himself to keep from crying out and/or blacking out whichever imperative was easiest to fight off. He'd been doing pretty well with controlling both, but he knew that wouldn't last much longer. At some point, unconsciousness would win out and if he weren't near something or someone to find him, to get help for him, it would be a sleep he wouldn't be likely to emerge from again. He knew that he would have to keep on moving until he couldn't anymore so he opted to let himself bleed, occasionally checking the flow to possibly fool himself into thinking that it was slowing by some miracle. Survival was as much psychological as it was physical until the body finally overrode any and all magical thinking.

Then there was the uninvited and uninitiated pain as the bullet made its presence known, moving deeper into him the more he moved. He could only speculate that it was still lodged in him. He had tried stupidly to turn and feel for an exit wound and had paid dearly for it. That move had almost done him in outright. He had groaned and breathed through the agony that ripped through him.

It was pitch black when he had awakened. He wasn't where he had been shot. He had been moved, dumped, likely left for dead. Billy felt strangely vindicated that he had survived still, that didn't take away from the fact that he didn't know where he was and that being dumped probably exacerbated his injury.

He tried to feel around his surroundings and felt floor. He also surmised that without any light coming through, he was probably in a windowless room, hopefully with an unlocked door. He crawled toward what he had hoped would be a wall to brace himself against. Attempting to lift himself up without that to assist him would not only be extremely painful, but he had enough knowledge about the injury, being all too familiar with it to know that he would instantly double over, fall again, and add more damage to his injury.

He reached out in front of him and found what he hoped was a wall. He pressed against it to give himself as much leverage as he could. The wall seemed to be holding his weight so he slowly propped himself up. First, he got to his knees, admittedly trembling the entire time with pain as he placed each knee underneath him, leaning against the wall, crawling up it. He breathed heavily, groaning, but he knew he couldn't stop because any little rest or pause while trying to stand would be his undoing. He would be done for. He then pushed up on to each leg. Once standing, he allowed himself to breath as he leaned, his head resting on his crossed arms.

"Bugger."

While he fought off the pain and dizziness, he took a moment to inventory what possessions were still with him. Not surprisingly, his cell and earwig were gone. Only comforting thing about that knowledge was that Michael, Casey and Rick would know that he had gone missing when he didn't answer even if they didn't know where he was or how to find him. He was still hopeful that once outside of his "prison", he would find a way to contact them. His wallet was gone too. No ID or money. Guess his captors figured he wasn't going to need it. If they were expecting riches, they would have been sorely disappointed at the few dollars of cash that was in it and if they were stupid enough to use his credit cards, they'd be leaving an electronic trail to them. As for ID, Billy's CIA ID was never with him and the one in his wallet was one of his many aliases. If they did fingerprints, he would come up as a John Doe, no record to be found. Dead and disavowed. A less than comforting thought, but one he had come to peace with.

Once he felt ready to inflict more pain upon himself, because he knew that every move he made would cause pain no matter what he tried to do, he slowly felt around again and remarkably, he found what felt like a door knob. Maybe his luck hadn't run out entirely after all. He found himself tentatively turning it, as if not ready to be disappointed if it turned out it was locked. The knob continued to turn in his shaky grip and the door opened, if sluggishly, like it was rusted. Billy knew he'd have to expend a burst of strength to yank the door open enough to get through it. He dreaded the prospect, but surrendering in order to avoid the inevitable pain that would surely come wasn't an option, knowing the door wasn't locked and that he could walk through it was worth the agony.

He took in more breaths to ready himself then jerked the door open. He groaned as it moved slowly. The strain of pulling it, at first sent red, hot pain shooting from his gut into his back and he cried out. He stopped when he began to see spots in his eyes. He had to hope it would be enough, he wasn't sure he had anymore left to do another jerk without losing consciousness. He tried to clear his sight to judge the opening and it seemed enough to him. He maneuvered around the door to step outside of his room. It was slow and the pain seemed to radiate further into his back, still, he pushed his body forward. He refused to die where he stood. If he was going to die, it was going to be out in the open, that goal was driving him at the same time his body was screaming at him to give up.

When he stepped out, he was heartened to find himself in a warehouse. Sunlight was streaming through broken glass windows and an exit door was not far, but to Billy it might as well as have been one hundred miles away and adding to the challenge was that there was very little to brace himself on to reach it other than the wall which would lengthen the trip towards the door.

He felt his legs quiver beneath him, struggling to keep him standing, but he had decided that he would make it out of the warehouse even if he had to crawl. After that, he wasn't sure he could guarantee that he would be conscious, but he took in another breath and began walking. He gripped at whatever he could along the wall, each step was agony, but training and sadly, having experienced being shot before had given him some ability to zone some of the pain out by fixating on a goal like escape, maybe not completely and certainly not whenever he jolted the injury, but enough to keep him from collapsing into a heap. He had to stop occasionally to keep dizziness at bay otherwise he would be a heap, but beyond that, he kept moving.

He finally reached the door. He allowed himself a quick look back and saw his blood trail. He worried that he was losing more blood than the trail revealed. For a minute he entertained that he might not find help in time, but he swiftly erased it from his mind, refocused and pulled open the door to the outside world. He groaned as more pain consumed him. It opened more easily, but he felt like it weighed a ton. He was getting weaker, but he was far from done. Once the door was open, he walked through. Bright, shattering sunlight flooded his eyesight and he put his arm up to block it. He teetered and fell back onto a wall. The jostling jarred his body and his wound and the darkness he had been trying to fend off finally defeated him and everything went black.

**ChaosChaosChaosChaos**

Billy opened his eyes rather surprised that he was still alive, but feeling the hard ground beneath him told him that he had awakened where he had dropped.

"Right. Still alive then," he said to himself.

He didn't know how long he'd been lying there, but figured it hadn't been long. The sun was still up unless it had been twenty-four hours later, but he knew that he would have been dead for sure if that were the case. He tried to sit up, but he couldn't without searing pain sending him lying back on the ground again. He tried looking at his wound and as much around him as he could. There didn't seem to be anyone else around, just more abandoned warehouses. He heard water lapping nearby, a wharf, maybe. He then spied a pay phone just a few steps away. He didn't hold any hope that it was working, but he didn't have many choices and hope was all he had left. He rolled over and attempted to at least sit up and though it wasn't any less painful, the pay phone beckoned and kept his motivation high despite everything in his body slowly giving up on him. He found some nearby crates to lean on to help him back up to a standing position and limped towards the phone, absently clutching at his wound, hissing when he hit a raw spot. Once he got there, he propped himself up on the phone stand, hoping it would support his weight. He then lifted the receiver and found himself absolutely joyful at the sound of a dial tone. He pressed "0" for operator. It had been a while, but he hoped that he could still make a collect call. He knew that he needed 911, but security being the CIA credo he needed to contact one of the team first.

"Operator. Can I help you?"

Billy moaned as a flash of pain hit him.

"Yes, yes, can you make a collect call for me there, love?" Billy rasped and groaned.

"It sounds like you need 911, sir."

"I know I don't sound up to snuff at the moment, but really, I'm fine, I just need you to make a call for me."

"All right, sir."

Billy recited the number. She put the call through and he heard the connection on the other end.

"Estephano Garcia."

Billy had never felt such relief at hearing a voice before.

"I have a collect call from a Liam Mahoney. Will you accept the charges?"

"Yes! Yes, put him through," said the excited voice.

"Go ahead, sir," she said to Billy then disengaged from the conversation.

"Billy? Billy? What happened? Where are you?"

"Rick, I never thought I'd hear your voice again. It's really quite reassuring," Billy said with a grunt.

"Tell me where you are!"

"I wish I knew, mate…they capped me and left me for dead. T'weren't for my Scottish fortitude, don't think I coulda made it, but I fear that's fading fast."

"Are you at a pay phone?"

"Yeh...yeh, the buggers cleaned me out…" Billy reported. "Only thing I can tell ya is that I was dumped at a warehouse near the water, probably a wharf," Billy breathed.

"Okay, okay, stay on the line with me, we'll trace you to your location."

"Aye, I was hoping you'd do that, lad. I can't walk much farther and…and…" Billy faded off.

"BILLY! Stay on the line! You've gotten this far. You need to keep talking to me."

"Trying there, Rick, but it's getting harder and harder."

"Michael and Casey are working on getting your location. I just need you to keep talking to me."

Rick knew what he had to do. They didn't need to keep Billy talking to trace him. Rick just needed to keep Billy talking so that he could be reassured that he was staying alive.

"How badly are you hurt, Billy?"

"Shot in the gut...slow bleed," Billy related, groaning. "The bullet's still in me far as I can tell...passed out once already."

Rick was worried about the way Billy sounded. The tone of his voice was laced with pain, exhaustion and ragged breathing.

"We're getting help to you so just hang on."

All Rick heard was a groan, a groan that he felt.

"Billy?"

"Hanging…on, lad," Billy said, as he tried to hold on to the pay phone stand to keep standing, but he was getting weaker. "Hanging…on."

"Good…good," Rick said, his conviction waning, his concern elevating.

"I may need your help," Billy said, realizing that he couldn't stay standing much longer.

"Tell me what you need me to do," Rick said, his need to help evident in his voice.

Billy couldn't help but smile. He envied and, if the truth were to be told, relied on Rick's enthusiasm to keep his priorities straight. He needed the occasional reminding.

"Keep talking to me, mate. It will help keep me from passing out until the rescue arrives."

Billy was feeling his grip weakening so he knew he'd have to sit down.

"Give me a second," he said to Rick.

"What? What are you doing?" Rick asked, panicked.

Billy slowly lowered himself to the ground, every inch downward causing pain and a groan to go with it. Rick was hearing it, but felt helpless.

"Billy? Billy?" He kept calling out.

Billy positioned himself then grabbed the receiver. Luckily, there was enough slack to hold it to his face.

"Couldn't stand anymore…if I was going to keep conscious, I needed to sit down," Billy breathed.

"Okay, okay. Michael and Casey, they have you locked in on the trace. They're heading your way. Stay with me."

"Aye, I'll do my very best…" Billy stiffened with pain. "So...tell me, how are things going between you and Adele?"

Rick felt his face flush with embarrassment. Billy could almost hear it through the phone. It made him smile.

"While we were 'fugitives' those two months chasing Simms...I realized that I -" Rick paused.

"You love her, don't ya, lad? Have for awhile I suspect," Billy said managing to sound pleased with himself as he breathed heavily and groaned again.

"Yeh, I do," Rick said, feeling uplifted by sharing it, especially with Billy. He had been his advocate in his pursuit of Adele from the very start if teasingly at first.

"About time…knew it was coming."

"She was happy, but...I'm not sure..."

"She didn't say it back, is that what you're worried about? My God, man, are you blind as well as slow? It's written all over her face. She loves ya. Trust me. I see it in her eyes whenever she looks at ya," Billy said, feeling a bit of energy from Rick's admission of adoration.

"You do?"

Billy smiled tiredly. Rick was just as full-hearted in the ways of romance as he was undaunted in his commitment to patriotism.

"Yeh, the only reason she's hesitating to say the words is she worries about both your ambitions in the Agency. You don't see it as an obstacle, but she does. You, my boy, are the romantic in this relationship," Billy said with a smile, wheezing.

Rick then heard a small cry of pain and worry replaced his smile.

"Billy?"

Billy tensed with more pain and was finding it difficult to take in breaths. Rick heard it and once again, helplessness overcame him. He wanted to reach into the phone. He had wanted to go with Michael and Casey to find Billy, but he knew that it was just as important to keep him conscious and fighting and that need was stronger.

"Billy?" He called again, fear gripping him.

"I'm here…tired, but here," Billy gasped.

"I know, I know, I'm sorry, but please hold on," Rick pleaded.

Billy sensed something, heard something in Rick's entreating voice that went beyond just a simple request.

"No need to be sorry, mate. Still trying…haven't given up yet…keep talking to me…" Billy tried to reassure as much as his voice could communicate.

Rick struggled for a moment to think of something to say to keep Billy awake when a thought came to him that he hoped would help keep Billy fighting.

"When I was 12…I had a best friend named Nathan. We'd known each other since the 3rd grade. We did everything together. We lived in a tough neighborhood and we were both poor so we didn't have a whole lot of toys, but we didn't need any. We'd pretend to be cops, firemen…James Bond," Rick laughed.

Billy listened and smiled.

"Ah, so that's what…got you going into the spy biz, aye? James Bond is the best recruiter."

There was silence.

"Rick? Are you all right?" Billy sensed again that something was wrong and it worried him.

"He'd been shot in a drive by…" Rick stuttered.

Billy was taken aback by Rick's words, not expecting that particular twist to Rick's tale.

"You don't have to go any further, mate. I understand," Billy said, hoping to spare Rick any pain the retelling of the memory would cause.

"It's okay…" Rick said as he took in a breath. "I…watched him die…there was blood everywhere…I couldn't do anything…I told him to hold on, but he couldn't. He'd bled out before help could get to him."

Billy found himself shocked at the intimacy of the telling of such a story by Rick to him. He felt honored by it as well and it was not lost on him why Rick had wanted to tell it to him.

"I'm sorry that you had to go through something like that at such a wee age."

Rick paused again to appreciate Billy's sympathy and support. It was always there and ever present for him whenever he had needed it even when he was fighting to stay alive. Billy had never shied away at expressing his own feelings when Rick had needed the reassurance like when he was facing kidnapping LaRouche. He had told Rick that he had felt the same fear as he did. It had strengthened his resolve then so he had hoped that by sharing his own story, it would do the same for Billy. He also understood the selfish message he was sending as well.

"It was after his death I had decided I wanted to make a difference, not just to be a bystander. Nathan was the one who wanted to be James Bond."

Billy now understood the driving force behind Rick's desire to be a spy. He felt a sudden need to comfort him.

"You'd've made your mate, Nathan, proud." Billy said, exhaustion hitting him.

"Don't make me go through it again," Rick softly pleaded.

Billy had no words, no clever comeback to answer Rick's plea. He hoped not to break Rick's spirit as he sought to strengthen his own spirit and resolve while battling to keep his failing body from breaking. It was then that he heard sirens and when he looked towards the sound, he saw them coming his way. Relief welled up in him.

"I hope to not have to, lad. Help is on the way. I can see them coming."

Rick closed his eyes and mouthed a thank you, clearly to a higher power.

"Okay, okay, stay with me until they get to you."

"Aye, I'll do that and Rick…thank you."

Billy set his gaze towards the EMS van and Michael's beat up Taurus. A shot of pain riddled up into his body, so sudden and so sharply, he cried out. Rick heard it.

"Billy? Stay with me, okay?"

Billy's breathing started to labor.

"Billy? You okay?"

"Never…better…mate…" Billy said.

Rick felt an icy dread hit him. He then heard a crack, as if the receiver was knocking into something. Billy had let go. He then heard commotion, voices, yelling. He found himself screaming over his phone. 

"BILLY! MICHAEL? CASEY? SOMEBODY! TELL ME WHAT'S HAPPPENING!"

Rick felt the trembling, helpless panic that he had felt when his friend had died. He remembered screaming his name over and over again to try and wake him up. At twelve, even with the violence that had been all around him in the neighborhood, when he had been with Nathan, none of that ever seemed to touch him, but then he was shot and harsh reality punched him square in the chest. Nathan's eyes were open and all Rick could do was scream at him to wake up. Other friends pulled him away as EMS worked on his friend. He struggled to get free, but couldn't. He felt all that again and it was worse now because he was separated from Billy by miles of distance, the only tether a phone line between them.

Then, he heard something.

"Rick?"

It was Michael's voice.

"Michael! Thank God you're there. How's Billy?"

"He's okay. He passed out. EMS is working on him to stabilize him, but everything looks good. We'll meet you at the hospital," Michael paused. "Rick?"

"Yeh?"

"Good work."

Rick took in a breath and let the adrenaline ooze out of his system.

"Thanks."

He heard the phone being hung up and disconnected as well. He closed his eyes, feeling the sensation of passing out overwhelm him. Once he had control again, he allowed himself a moment of victory. Billy was okay. They had found him in time.

**ChaosChaosChaosChaos**

Rick rushed to the hospital. Billy had already been assessed in the trauma center by the time he had gotten there and had been sent off to surgery. He hadn't regained consciousness, but that was to be expected given the blood loss. The bullet was still lodged in him so the doctors had to gauge and repair the damage it had done as well as remove it. It would be a long day and night of waiting.

Michael and Casey were in the waiting room. It had seemed that at least one of them had needed some kind of medical attention after a mission lately. Rick could attest to that personally after having his own near death experience. He felt a completely immeasurable gratitude for each of them because they had all played a role in saving his life, even when he had wondered if he would make it. Billy telling stories to take his mind off the pain, Casey singing to calm himself and indirectly calming him as well, and Michael running fifteen miles to the clinic. They had each contributed to his survival on one level or another. Though Michael and Casey had taken their share of bumps and bruises, it didn't go unnoticed by Rick that Billy had suffered more than his fair share of serious injuries. Yet, despite that, none of them, Billy, especially, had ever thought that maybe their luck might be running out, that maybe they should retire before some enemy did it for them permanently.

With all of Rick's declarations of patriotism, when any one of them got hurt, he found himself wondering if the risk, the life and death situations they often found themselves in was worth it. He knew that danger was a part of the job, but moments like now where they were in a waiting room of a hospital, waiting to hear if one of their own was going to be all right, he couldn't help, but think like Corwin had, whether anything they did for the Agency and their country was worth doing without any appreciation for the risks they took or to be disavowed if captured. It did all seem painfully senseless at times.

How much was too much? What were their limits? What was their line in the proverbial sand that couldn't be crossed over? Would it come when an injury disabled them so much that they couldn't perform the missions anymore? Or would it be when the inevitable indignities of old age had finally crept up like it had for Ray Bishop and they were tossed into forced, unglamorous retirement? Or would it be the ultimate sacrifice? Where recognition finally stopped being important and you just became another unidentified star on the memorial wall? Rick had wondered about that a lot lately.

He was barely into his career in the ODS and those questions, those doubts were already swimming around in his head. Billy had "instructed" him that only a fool didn't feel fear when faced with a potential firefight, but he wasn't entering a mission or facing potential combatants and yet he was feeling afraid, fearing losing a friend yet again. Having had one loss in his life didn't lessen the agony of possibly facing another. If anything, for Rick, it had just deepened the fear. Losing his childhood friend to a violent death had been traumatic, no question about that, but it had shaped him into the man he grew up to be. Billy had come into his life when he had thought he had a firm grasp of what his future was going to be and forming his friendship with him, learning lessons from Billy's experience, if delivered in tongue-in-cheek fashion most times, had only enhanced that long term vision. But as with all visions not anchored in reality, disillusionment and doubt seeped into them. Now, once again, he felt like that twelve-year old little boy who had watched his friend die, having never entertained the possibility that it could ever happen despite all the violence around him. Billy was fighting for his life now and all Rick could do was stand by and allow reality to rip into his future and flood his certainty with questions, questions he knew he would need to find answers to if he was going to continue doing the job.

Once again, it was Billy's words that came back to him:

_"Look, only a fool would walk knowingly into a potential firefight unafraid, okay? Because fear has a very real purpose, it reminds us that we're vulnerable, fragile even."_

Fragile. Billy's life was fragile as he fought to live and Rick felt that fragility, only at that moment, his own fragile state was more emotional rather than physical.

Billy fought setbacks for two weeks, the worst of which, not surprisingly, was an infection that had caused a high fever and that Billy had trouble abating at first, but there were other frightening moments such as more internal bleeding that had required reentry back into surgery yet Billy had fought each one and had seemingly come back stronger for every one he had faced. It had been a wonder to Rick. Billy's strength seemed super human at times. Rick's emotions had been put to the test each time and he didn't think he had fared nearly as well as Billy had.

Billy then finally began fully recovering, enough to emerge awake, if weak. Michael, Casey and Rick had taken shifts to be with Billy as much as hospital visiting hours would allow. One day, Rick had been visiting and Billy had welcomed him with a smile, embuing it with an ebullience that his battle for health hadn't diminished.

"How are you doing there, Rick?" Billy said, his accent only accentuating his positive mood.

Rick shook his head and couldn't help, but smile back.

"How do you do that? How can you sit there and be so happy? You got shot! You almost died!"

"Such a gloomy Gus you are. I'm celebrating another day above ground. It's all the more gratifying given the treacherous circumstances of my injury."

Billy was just short of gleeful at being alive and Rick had to admit it was infectious. Still, he hadn't been able to shake his doubts over the last two weeks despite Billy's miraculous recovery. Billy had noticed it and, at first, had let things be so that Rick could come to him with it in his own time, but he was clearly getting a vibe that Rick was resisting.

"Okay, what's wrong?"

"What? Nothing's wrong," Rick evaded.

"My God, man, if you were to be strapped to one of our lovely little lie detectors right about now, it would protest the inhumane treatment upon it because its needle would be twitching off the charts so don't bother denying it and just tell me what's nagging at you."

Rick sat heavily into a chair. His shoulders were slumped, his hands rubbing his face. He then looked up at Billy.

"How much is too much?"

Billy was a bit stupefied by the blunt if vague question.

"My injury must have been more serious than I first suspected. Something must have traveled to my brain because I have no clue as what you're asking me."

"How much is so much that you'd quit the Agency? What would it take to do that?" Rick asked clarifying his question.

Billy's expression softened from confusion to empathy.

"What's brought this on there, lad?"

"I'm having…" Rick said, his voice and body showing exhaustion and a bit of defeat.

"A wee bit of a crisis of faith, I suspect," Billy finished.

Billy knew better than to quell Rick's doubts and fears with his usual quips and jokes. Rick was balancing precariously on a tightrope of indecision and one wrong answer could drive him to make what Billy knew in his heart would be a wrong decision. Billy could relate to his quandary, as he had been there himself.

Rick just nodded to confirm Billy's assessment.

"I fear that my little brush with death has got you questioning the merits of this job. It's understandable. I was actually a bit concerned that after your own recent dance with it, you hadn't asked me that question sooner," Billy said. "The answer is not so simple as you would like it to be for it really is subjective to each person to determine when it is their time to walk away. The more important question I have for you is has that moment happened for you?"

Billy saw the pain and turmoil on Rick's face and understood.

"I don't know."

"An honest answer," Billy acknowledged, empathy and concern still in his tired voice. "I could tell you that you're way too new at this to already have doubts, but that would be a lie. Neither age nor experience weighs into this situation. Facing your mortality often does."

"It's part of the job, I knew that going in and I thought I had accepted it when I had gotten shot."

"You never truly accept facing death because you get reckless once you do. When you think you've come to terms with dying then you're not only a danger to yourself, but to your team members as well. **That's** the time you walk away."

"So, you've never wanted to leave the Agency?"

"I didn't say that. Many's a hospital stay, some with grim prognoses, others with so much physical therapy ahead of me that I had toyed with the idea of giving it all up, but more for my mates' sake than for myself because if I couldn't be 100% there for them, for you, then I would be a liability and I couldn't live with that."

Rick marveled at Billy's philosophy about the work. It gave him the perspective he had needed.

"Look, if you really feel that you can't do the job with the same commitment and patriotic zeal that you walked in with then I won't blame you if you left and would wish you well, probably even congratulate you for coming to your senses, but I don't think that's what you really want to do. I think you're more afraid of losing someone like you lost your mate, Nathan. It's that you're having trouble facing."

Rick looked at Billy and again, marveled at how intuitive he had been.

"I know it doesn't make any sense."

"It makes perfect sense to me. Sometimes we fear losing others more than our own lives. I wish I could tell you that it will never happen to you, but sadly, that would be yet another lie. We're all mortal in the end and lives are vulnerable –"

"Fragile," Rick finished.

Billy nodded, remembering that he had given a similar speech to him before.

"I can tell you that, for me, it's not about the missions, but the people which drive me and even with getting shot at, which I do try to avoid at every opportunity, mind you, I haven't found an instance where I didn't think it was worth it. The day I don't feel that way is when I'll walk away and I promise you'll be the first to know."

Rick smiled.

"I'm glad you're going to be okay."

Billy smiled back.

"As long as I have you watching my back, that, too, is worth the risk and my life. You need to know that confidence has never wavered. I knew it from the first that you had the heart of a hero. You've only proven that to me time and time again."

Rick swallowed back his emotion.

"Thanks."

"Right, now that that's all cleared up, can you hand me the jello, there? I'm starving."

Rick smiled widely and all the tension and anxiety finally left him. All he felt was relief. Billy's assurances about his skills, about the faith he had in him made everything right again. Rick knew that, for him, he was where he had belonged, among these men who exert every ounce of courage they possessed to saving people, countries even. Billy, though, held a brotherly connection that transcended ordinary friendship for him because in Billy, Rick had found someone who had possessed a devotion to good that surpassed even his own. He may play it down, but Rick knew that Billy's commitment was truer than all of them combined and that knowledge made taking all of the risks they did worthy and worthwhile.

**FIN. Hope you enjoyed it and thanks for reading as always.**


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